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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240460">White Wolf</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupinedelight/pseuds/Lupinedelight'>Lupinedelight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Cute, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, wolf - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:13:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupinedelight/pseuds/Lupinedelight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt thought that this day was going to be more of the same - kill monsters, get paid, and repeat. However, when he finds something curious tucked near a monster nest, could his mundane day job get a little more exciting?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. More of the Same (and Soggy Feet)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just whetting the appetite here a little, and testing the waters. I'll likely post longer chapters going forward!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What could be considered an unusual day for most became routine to a witcher. When things became unusual for a witcher, it meant that the occurrence really was something extraordinary. </p><p>Monsters were his bread and butter, they were infinitely more <i>dull </i> the longer you did this as a living, and he lived for the more dangerous beasts, if they were ever found. It really was a luck of the draw, but something that was more likely to kill him at least sent a little shiver of excitement up his spine. Not that every battle was a dull affair, because it wasn’t, and there was something to be said for the adrenaline, and the addition of various potions when needed. When you went out of your way to find any scrap of a monster possible, in hopes of bringing in a few extra coins, however, then it became tedious. </p><p>That was what the white haired man was doing today. He was knee deep in a swamp, he could feel the water seeping into his boot from being out here too long, the left one, and he made a note to try and get it looked at when he could. He was muddy, covered in muck already, and he hadn’t even managed to kill the fucking thing yet. Things, even.<br/>
Drowners and water hags tended to co-exist, after all, whereas the former tended to like swarming, akin to nekkers, and ghouls, the latter worked with that chaos, and slotted in nicely with their supreme mud throwing skills and general enjoyment of damp things, popping up if you were unawares just to cover you in whatever gunk they’d collected from the depths of the pools they hung out in. He’d already been dunked into the filthy water, and he could feel a scratch that might be more than that starting to sting down his side, but still, this was nothing he couldn’t handle. </p><p>Slice. Pirouette. Dodge - dodge again, duck. Bring the sword down, and one by one he’d get them. </p><p>The man had beheaded, sliced open, and got a good stab in to the beings that were trying to drag him into the deeper water, the liquid spraying through the air as they thrashed, and he moved, the sound of them was just as gut wrenching as the smell of his surroundings, and probably of him. Maybe he’d have a bath when he got to town? Surely if he collected some parts here, they’d pay him?<br/>
<i>Don’t distract yourself, Geralt.</i><br/>
Something came up behind him, and he felt a slick hand, if it could be called a hand, tickle his shoulder. In a movement that would be quite beautiful, if the turn wasn’t so deadly, the witcher focused, hand coming up, fingers spreading in an easy movement, and casting Igni - the flames licking from the man’s hand, forwards. Soon, the damn water hag was lying before him, gladly finished off with the smell of burnt swamp flesh filling the air, and causing Geralt to wrinkle his nose. Witchers had sensitive senses, after all, and such a foul smell would have gagged even a pig in muck, he was sure. Out the corner of his eye, he spotted one last drowner that he had honestly thought had already been dead - the creature was sluggish, swinging a blow that never landed, because it’s hand came clear off as silver came swinging through the air, an easy arc, almost not really thought about. The man turned towards the monster, who was clearly surprised, blood spurting from the wound, making the murky bogginess even more of an odd colour around their ankles “Nice try, buddy.” the witcher murmured, and the sword in his hand came down one final time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Collecting the Spoils... Is That a Dog?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The monsters defeated, Geralt is keen to get moving towards town, but something catches his attention.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The unusual thing came a short while after he had huffed out a breath, brushed some bloodied, muddied, frankly <i>disgusting</i> hair from his face, and bent down to see what spoils he could get from his kills, dragging one of the bodies from the shallow water, the mud squelching beneath his feet, and for a moment he wondered how the thick woodland around here was thriving, surely everything was waterlogged? Even the air felt damp.<br/>
Heads were useful, hands were useful, they could have brains, claws, eyes, teeth, whatever else unsavoury taken from them for potions, and talismans, magic, superstition, and experimentation - he didn’t care as long as he was paid. The next town looked big enough that hopefully they’d be the market for such things. That, or he’d throw the head down on a tavern table and demand payment for it. It wasn’t often he had to resort to such measures, but needs must, and once or twice, if there was nobody interested in paying him for the fact that he’d gone out of his way to keep their locale safe, they’d throw him a few coins just to get out with his usually still dripping trophy. </p><p>That always amused him. When you lived as long as he had, you had to take what you could get as far as entertainment went sometimes.<br/>
Contrary to popular belief, witchers did have senses of humour - perhaps they were just a little different to the general public? Work such as theirs would create such humour, after all. </p><p>Pulling a rough feeling bag from where it had been neatly folded and tucked into his belt, the white haired witcher began to throw the scraps from his labour into it, and after scouring the area for anything else interesting, he straightened, threw the sack over his shoulder and peered through the green moss and lichen covered trees, the brown bark of some of the tangled branches and trunks covered by the infesting smaller plants. He could make out a shadow of a figure in the distance, an animal, and stepping forward, he took a chance, and whistled.<br/>
Gladly, it was not some other beast of the woods coming to throw him back into the pools of water he had been practically bathing in a moment or so ago, it was his trusty steed. The mare had bolted when the drowners had popped up, and he was glad he’d been smart enough to tie his reins in a knot before she ran off in a panic, or would have been faced with potentially a panicked, tangled equid, or needing to replace the worn leather; which he could not currently afford to do. She was well trained, and a faithful beast, though, and truthfully a favourite of the horses he’d had over the years. She had a good spirit to her, and for the most part was steady. He’d learned long ago to trust his mares, because if he had to roll himself out of the saddle, or had to move in a hurry while leading her by hand, or the situation was just plain unsafe, it would be dangerous to tie her up - that was where the whistle training had really come into its own, and besides, many whispered about witcher horses being magical, anyway….<br/>
“Nice to see you kept dry.” he snorted at her, as a velvety nose snuffled at his neck, warm air from the huff of breath spreading over his skin and her whiskers tickled “It’s swamp water, trust me, not a good smell.” He rolled his eyes, and ran his free hand over her nose, sheathing his sword with the other, not bothering to try and clean it off on the muddy surroundings. The thought of that warm (or at least dry) room at a local inn flashed back into his thoughts again, and he knew he could have a quiet evening after a hot meal, an ale (or two) to just wash, clean everything, organise his belongings. If that thought wasn't a nudge in the right direction, he didn’t know what was. </p><p>“C’mon then, Roach, let’s get out of here, it’s going to get dark, and if I have to camp out again tonight, I think that might actually be the first tears I cry since being a boy.” He murmured to the horse, tying the sack to her saddle, and taking her reins, intending to lead her in hand back through the trees and onto the main road. They passed the earlier deserted, and swiftly destroyed nest of the drowners, and the corpse of a horse accompanied by half its rider, both near being bones, and carried onwards. Something stopped him, though, a noise. There was a sudden squeak behind him, and he frowned, turning around, but then kept walking. It was probably just a bold rat.<br/>
A few steps later, though, and it was more of an incessant sound, culminating in what Geralt could only call a whimper. There was nothing there, though…. “Hang on.” He told Roach, and let her stand a moment, cautiously heading back towards where the noise was coming from. He could hear more snuffling, and took another step forward, towards where the fallen rider’s ragged cloak was, and leaned in a little closer. Monster hunter or not, Geralt had his moments of thoughtlessness and foolery. It wasn’t anything magical, or his medallion, the carved wolf’s head slung around his neck, would have been thrumming, even weakly, so clearly it wasn’t a forgotten thing about to attack him. The man reached forward, and as he did, a head popped out. </p><p>He stumbled backwards, and then huffed at himself for being so spooked. What had appeared from under the cloak was a dog, clearly, maybe the guy, lying half eaten, in the mire had had a dog? Loyal, stupid creature. The animal looked young, though, and surely it would have been dead, judging by how long the bodies looked like they had been here, if it were as stupid and as loyal as dogs could be. He looked back at it, noted ears too large for it, matted, muddied, and downright damp fur, that had clearly once been white. It made another noise, and then rushed forward, out from where it had been hiding, and truthfully, the witcher was not sure what to do. He glanced around, bemused, because what he saw in front of him wasn’t a dog at all, it was a wolf pup - underweight, yes, but still too lithe, too skinny to be a domestic dog, even this young. Usually wolves in these areas stuck together, unless they were ostracised - wetlands like this did not often make good places to thrive for predators - unless you were a particularly grim swamp monster awaiting lost travellers.<br/>
“Where’s your mama?” He frowned, not wanting to spook it. Roach made a noise just a short distance away, but she didn’t seem concerned with the small wolf. It was clearly not a threat like it’s older counterparts “Go back to her.” He told the animal, as if it understood, feeling foolish for being worried by the creature. Shooing it with a hand, he turned back to walk towards his awaiting horse, and took her by the reins again. </p><p>They walked another short distance, but that whimpering followed him, and he could hear the wet patter of feet in the damp ground behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dogged Determination and Hopefully Not a Stupid Decision</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt thinks that he's on his way to a dry bed, and a warm bath, but something is niggling at him, and he has to make a choice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A game of Grandmother’s Footsteps followed (where every time Geralt looked back to see if the little beast was still following, it would stop, or disappear, and then when he turned around to walk again, he could hear those mud stained paws come after him) for what felt like an eternity. He attempted to shoo the animal off more than once, and stamped a foot, tossed a stone to a side of it, and Roach even threw up her head, a frustrated neigh at her rider’s weird behaviour (weirder than usual) heard from the mare. Still, this game continued until…. Well, until it suddenly didn’t. He didn’t need another mouth to feed, he couldn’t provide for the creature, and although he knew it was destined for death out here alone, that was better for it, that was just nature after all, was it not? It was the way things workedl. The white haired man had been stubbornly ignoring the damn creature, and they trampled through the undergrowth, finding the trail they’d followed to get here in the first place, and he knew that the main road couldn’t be too far. He wasn’t sure what had made him turn around once more, maybe some sense of guilt? It didn’t matter, because the scrap of a wolf was gone. <br/>“Looks like we lost it.” He told the horse, and surprised himself with a sensation that was twisting inside of him - regret? Maybe he should have given in. Roach didn’t give him a response, just glad to have her own feet out of the wetness of the swamp they had been in just a short while ago. </p><p>Checking he still had everything, he then swung up onto the back of the horse, getting himself comfortable, taking a moment to check the girth of the saddle was still tight, before he sat back up, and took the reins up. He couldn’t spend too long thinking about the strange little wolf who had appeared, and then disappeared, because he had other things to think about. That bath, and that actual bed were definitely driving forces here, and, so, with one last look back towards the forest behind them, he nudged Roach into a trot, and they moved out from the woodland trail, and onto the dirt path which would lead them onto the main road and towards the next town. As they rode, he didn’t think about much. Unless there was something worth thinking deeply about, Geralt was not often one for anything too profound in his mind. He was just glad that it wasn’t raining, that it wasn’t too cold, because his damp clothes, and soiled hair would be sticking to him, and he’d be even more miserable. As it was, the horrendous mood that had been threatening him up until this point had near enough dissipated, and he settled into just being a little disgruntled. He liked to be clean, and it was something that he had been teased about growing up from his brothers, and father figure, even to this day. He just didn’t see the fun in rolling around in filth, if you had the option for the opposite. Of course, he was not often given the option of a long soak in a tub, and had to make do with the clothes he had. For wanting to be clean, he certainly did not have much issue smelling of horse, or being covered in hair. That was a different kind of dirt, though, he’d argue.<br/>He’d be far better once he could stop for the night. He had the feeling his horse would be the same - she was dragging her feet a little, not as forward as she could well be. The white haired man ran a hand over her neck, readjusting his position in the saddle to get more comfortable, vaguely aware of the ache of his hunting, and of the last few days riding, catching up with him. Witchers were also not immune to aches and pains, after all, and although he was used to being in the saddle, the familiar ache of saddle soreness came for every man eventually. A soft huff escaped the mare, almost as if she was acknowledging being patted, and he hummed “We’ll get you something decent to eat, and I’ll see if I can find you a warm stall for the night. The next town should be big enough.” He told her “Or maybe a nice field with a few other horses and fresh grass?” He offered instead. Roach was a horse that was used to being out, after all, sometimes the likes of a stable actually did her worse than being out in the wilds. </p><p>That new, more optimistic mood did not last all that long, however, as they only made it a short way up the path, and just onto the main road, before the mare threw up her head up, sidestepping as she moved from the smooth canter he put her in while thinking, to a more scrambled trot. Used to her scattiness, and the easy (and quite frankly sometimes ridiculous) spooking of horses, Geralt sat as if the beast beneath him hadn’t just leapt to a side “Roachie,” He cooed, voice soft, hand coming down to her neck once more, ready to cast another well used Sign that his kind were renowned for to calm her if needed, but then she came to a halt, snorting, tail flicking, ears twitching, and looking to where she’d decided the terrifying spot was “it’s okay, it’s fine…. C’mon, you’ve seen worse….” He soothed, but then saw what had worried her. </p><p>A small fluffy form that had clearly once been white beneath the grime it kept on it’s pelt. </p><p>The wolf cub. </p><p>“If you’re preying on my guilty conscience, it’s not going to work.” He told it, and having made his mind up, and being quite a stubborn man, the witcher urged his steed on once more, her trot becoming a steady movement, the only sound on the quiet tree lined road was hooves kicking up the dirt. Roach’s ears still flicked, however, and she seemed bothered still. He ignored it. The sooner he could get to town the better, surely a wolf was not going to risk a built up area unless it had to? </p><p>The answer was yes, apparently, because what could only be called a frustrated bark escaped the small creature, and when Geralt glanced back, he could see it doggedly attempting to chase them down, little legs scrambling over the dusty path, falling into the grooves where the horse had already trod. Just as hard headed, the white haired man carried on, and did his best not to look round. When he finally gave in, and did, once more, the determined little creature had disappeared. “Got bored. Good riddance.” He murmured to himself, more than anything, only to look ahead of him again, through his mare’s ears. Guess what was before him once more?</p><p>The wolf cub. </p><p>It was laying, patient, as if it were waiting for him to catch up. It was not out of breath, and blue-green eyes stared up at him, as if querying what had taken him so long to reach it. How did it get there? There was no way it had outrun them. Geralt knew at that point, he could not just ignore it, those eyes set something strange off in him - yet his medallion, usually very good at picking up magic, power, lay flat against his chest. <br/>“What do you want?” He queried the beast, easing Roach into a halt. The wolf did not move, and the mare bent her neck, nose coming down to the much smaller animal, giving it a proper sniff now that they were in no danger. He was just glad this road was empty. <br/>The wolf stayed still, letting the equine huff and puff at it inquisitively, and when she brought her head up, she looked round at her rider. It was then that Geralt knew he had no choice, and he sighed, sliding from the saddle, boots squelching as they hit the hard floor. He pulled a face, but then approached the wolf once again. It was either very unwell, or was simply not scared of him. </p><p>A hand came out, and he was glad he was wearing gloves, because this was all kinds of stupid. It brought him back to a day he and one of his brothers had tried to befriend a stray wolf cub when they were meant to be out hunting while training. The pup had been caught in a trap they’d set out for rabbits, and the boys had attempted to free the poor soul. It had wriggled and whined, and once they had let it go, it had come running up to them, likely because it panicked, looking back on it, but both he and Eskel had managed to pet the creature, and a murmur of the idea of taking it back up to the Keep with them passed between the pair, as they were often wont to do (they had had a lot of other failed pets, but that was a story to think of another time). However, the choice was taken from them, as a mother wolf had come barrelling forwards. Geralt had thought that in that moment, they were going to come under attack. You did not mess with a mother of any kind, after all. She had snarled, showing rows of moist teeth, white, sharp, and they had stayed ever so still. However, she then just looked at the pair, picked up the cub, and wandered off. She’d looked at them, and lowered her head as she turned, and Geralt liked to think even to this day that it had been a sign of thanks. </p><p>Eskel was not here now, though, and he was nearly certain that no mother was coming for this pitiful looking creature. He knelt, movement slow, keeping his gaze impossibly soft (which not many would witness from him), and not trained on the animal. He waited, holding a breath he hadn’t even realised that had got caught in his throat. ROach huffed her own breath behind him, but she seemed strangely okay with this, and that spurred him forward, kept him in place. A wet nose touched his fingertips first, and although he did not feel the moisture through his gloves, it left a soft imprint in the leather, glistening in the sunlight when he ever so carefully brought his hand back. He stayed knelt there, and probably looked mad as anything - still dirty, damp. A man most feared, scarred, weaponised, with the head of a drowner in a bag tied to his saddle, but here he was in front of a baby. Letting out that breath, he thought the wolf was going to bolt. It didn’t, it came forward. </p><p>And that was how the bedraggled witcher ended up with an equally bedraggled wolf pup tucked in his shirt, and, clutching it’s small body to his chest, he was soon riding to the town. </p><p>Maybe they could both have a bath?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For context, Grandmother's Footsteps is a British game and is a children's game in which one player turns round often and without warning with the aim of catching the other players stealthily creeping up to touch him or her on the back.</p><p>It goes by a few other names throughout the world - you might have something similar!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Trying to Blend In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finally making it to town, Geralt has to admit that he's really quite impressed at how long he can keep a baby animal tucked inside his shirt. That bath is within touching distance, now!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wolf pup was peculiar, and that was an understatement. Maybe it really wasn’t well, and he was taking a gamble on a creature that was not going to last the night? It had been too keen to approach him, had been too trusting, and was currently cuddled in against his skin, tucked into the shirt he wore, unbothered by the sway of the horse beneath them, by the fact that what was essentially a human was cradling it. Maybe the poor beast was just hungry for some warmth and softness after being camped up under that tattered cloak in the woods. He tried not to think too hard about any of it as they carried on towards town, the late afternoon sun shining down on them, coating the road in an orange that would be pretty, if the glare hadn't been in his eyes. </p>
<p>The town soon came into view, and regardless of the buildings beginning to loom in the distance, he could tell they were close, as there began to be more traffic, other people with horses, a man with a few goats passed him by. The livestock <i>maaah’d </i> as they passed, and if the creatures had spotted the predator tucked in the witcher’s shirt, then their minder didn’t seem to care about much apart from getting to where he was headed. Geralt tried to shove the bundle of damp fur further into his clothing, grunting softly as he felt claws scrabble and scratch at the skin. People looked at him enough, he didn’t need to be looking like he was trying to sneak something in. Maybe he should have put the animal in a saddlebag instead? Luckily, being shoved a bit lower seemed to suit the baby wolf, and it stayed put for long enough. </p>
<p>Long enough for the guards at the perimeter of the town to frown at him as they usually did, eye him as if he were here to cause trouble, and for one of them to gesture to the slowly dripping roughspun bag that was attached to his saddle (because of course, they’d stopped him upon seeing what he was). After telling them it was the head of a monster, and some other grim bits, one of the guards looked about ready to vomit, and the other had paled, but had at least offered up some good information - which was that they did in fact have a healer that dabbled in using unorthodox ingredients, and that if he spoke to one of the local landowners who usually frequented the tavern at the centre of town, he’d likely pay for the fact the creatures had been slain. Why, Geralt wasn’t sure, perhaps he simply lived in fear, or perhaps his fields were close to the swampy area, and were easily waterlogged, and he worried all manner of monsters would drag themselves there. That would not be the case, but he wasn’t going to argue with the information, and so nodded, thanked the guards, and was grateful that they hadn’t looked at him too much longer, as the lump in his shirt had started to wriggle. He didn’t need them thinking he had some demon inside him, or whatever it was that fearful humans thought witchers contained. </p>
<p>With safe passage into the town, he rode for as long as he possibly could, but the road became narrow, and into more of a walkway between a few buildings, and after a few grumbles at locals almost being trod on by his mare, he decided it may be better to slip from the saddle and walk.This meant that he not only had to concentrate on Roach, where he was going, but he had to be extra careful of the wolf that was huddled in his clothing. He paused, and then grabbed for his cloak rolled up and attached near a saddlebag, throwing it over his shoulders - the weather was mediocre enough that he could get away with wearing it, and that meant that the lump he was cuddling against him wouldn’t be noticeable at all. Besides, as they walked further into the centre of the town, the buildings became more clustered together, brickwork became more normal for the more expensive builds, and there were even some two storey structures - the most prominent being the tavern in all it’s glory across from the market square. The main streets and the trails of path off of the primary walkways too became more busy with people, and the white haired man spotted the man with the noisy goats not too far away from him. It seemed that he was perhaps going to the other side of the town, though. It was too late for market, and it would be too costly to stay overnight with livestock. He didn’t get much time to ponder the goings on of the man, because someone bumped to him, but nothing escalated, and he simply sniffed, brushing the person off, making a beeline for the tavern, past the merchants still in the square, attempting to make a last minute deal in the late afternoon. He heard them clamouring even before he found the open area of the centre of town. <br/>“Sir, sir! An apple for your ‘orse, sir?” One called to him as they spotted him approach - the apples didn’t look all that appetising, and he was certain he saw something crawl over one of the other punnets of fruit. <br/>A woman caught him by the sleeve, and he attempted to pull away “Necklace for the lady in your life? Only 250 crowns!” Geralt caught sight of said necklaces - cheap wooden efforts, that looked like they’d give you splinters, and the paintwork seemed half hearted. There were nicer pieces towards the back of the stall, glassware, pendants of coloured rock on leather strands. He daren’t ask how much those were. He shook his head, and snatched his arm back, making sure that he didn’t drop the wolf in the process, and hoping to every god that the animal didn’t choose now to stick it’s head back out to sniff at the air, or anything “No ladies in my life.” And a sneer of a smile slipped onto his features. That was enough to make her back off. </p>
<p>Eventually, Geralt made it through the square to where the tavern was located. There were men outside drinking, catching the afternoon sun with friends before heading back to their wives, or whoever else, and a few serving girls milling around - one or two talking to the small gaggles of men - probably flirting for a gift or tip, he reasoned. He approached, and hoped that there’d be somewhere for Roach “No field, looks like it’ll be a stall, sorry.” He murmured to the mare, who just huffed. She was probably just going to be glad to not have to go anywhere for a while. <br/>Approaching, a stable boy seemed to appear out of nowhere, and headed towards him. He clearly knew that it was best to not shy away from a man who could well be good to pay him extra, and that’s exactly what Geralt offered as he passed the reins over. The youngster took Roach, and Geralt held a hand up to get him to pause. “She can have hay, but when we get to it, no oats,” They tended to make the mare jumpy “and leave my belongings be, if I find anything missing, it’ll be both you and your master that get the brunt of my sword. Oh, and, she bites.” He offered a smile, and if it was perceived as menacing, then so be it. He was already turning heads with his sword and his appearance, sometimes it was worth just giving them what they wanted, and playing into the stereotype. That way nobody approached when you didn’t want them to, and he had a get out clause for being less than personable if warranted. A murmur about witchers went through the group sat closest to him, but he ignored it. It was clear what he was, and it was clear he wasn’t in the best of mood. Normally, he’d take the horse himself, because he was particular about how she was kept, particular about his belongings, but he couldn’t risk any more issue with the discovery of what he was hiding beneath his cloak. He needed to hole up in a room for a short while, figure out his next movements, and he needed to get rid of those monster parts. </p>
<p>The poor young man looked a little shell shocked, and perhaps if he were in a more positive mood, and perhaps if those sorts of emotions weren’t so difficult for him, the witcher would have felt for him. As it was, neither of those things played a part, and he simply let the other take Roach, who went well enough, and left Geralt to step past the men outside, heading inside the establishment they were happily drinking out of business. </p>
<p>Inside was as many a public house was - all wooden interior, not particularly high ceilings, stairs to one side that led to the second level. Tables lined the main space with heavy benches (less likely to be knocked over, broken, or used as weapons), and there was sawdust on the floor that had clearly been used to soak something up (he’d rather not think about what), there was a clear area where entertainment happened, although it was sparse currently - too early for a performance, Geralt reasoned, and the bar stood to one side, with what looked, and smelled like the kitchen just off from it, the fire from the stove looking healthy, and he wondered what was brewing in the large pot. Probably stew. <br/>The tables inside were not as occupied as those outside, for whatever reason, but there were a few regulars, locals, and what looked to be travellers tucked away by themselves, having a drink before they moved on. There was a merchant that was having a game of dice with an equally well dressed man, and both looked up at him as he passed, but he carried on towards the bar area, hoping to find the proprietor. <br/>The man in charge was easy enough to come by, a burly man who looked as if he ran his own security if things got out of hand of a night, dressed in a shirt just a tad too tight for him, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he had an apron slung over it all. At least he looked like he was very much involved in his business, rather than hiding in an office. He had dark hair, receding, and a beard that would put a dwarf to shame. He would have fitted in in the wilderness, the witcher thought amusedly to himself. He supposed the man, now leaning on the bar, watching his new customer approach, could have been considered handsome in his younger days, in a brutish way.<br/>“Ah, Witcher!” Came the words from the bearded man as a greeting, and Geralt internally winced. Sometimes he would pass through places unnoticed, unbothered, but today did not seem one of those days. He wondered if it were the sword, or the peeping of his medallion that had got caught in the ties of the cloak and now sat awkwardly that had given him away. Or simply his appearance. After all, not many looked like him. <br/>Geralt stopped as he reached the bar, but stayed just out of arm’s reach, just in case, keeping the now wriggling bundle tucked beneath his cloak “No need to shout,” He murmured “but yes. I wondered if you had any rooms free? Just for a night.” He was never deliberately unpleasant, he didn’t want to add to any suspicion around him. He stood, patient, waiting as the man looked him up and down. It wasn’t uncommon for the likes of Geralt to be turned away, or allowed to spend his hard earned coin on drink and food, but not given lodging, and so he had learned to simply let the person in charge make the decision. On this occasion, he was in luck, and he was very much glad, as he could feel the wolf, still tucked in against him, begin to scrabble, push at him. He moved his arm a little, and shifted his weight onto one hip, so he was more side on. The innkeeper nodded “Lucky day, I do have a room spare.” He hummed, and offered up a price that the white haired man was fairly certain was over charging, but he didn’t have it in him to fight, and simply fumbled with his belt, tossing the other a coin purse which he knew would be enough “Can I order--”<br/>He was interrupted by the other, jingling the coins, before he began to count them out “There’s enough here for a bath, too, you look like you need it, and I’m not having you scare my patrons with the state of you.” He gestured idly to something that was caught in Geralt’s hair, and the witcher had to hide his expression, simply nodding. He was appreciative of the bath. Letting the man have the excess in coin for the privilege, he found he had to procure the water from the well out back himself, but that was fine, and when the key, with a chunk of wood attached to it to deter thieves, and remind those prone to losing things it was there, was slid across to him, he nodded his thanks and moved off quickly. </p>
<p>He managed to keep the wolf pup wrangled until they reached the stairs, where it’s head popped out once more. Geralt snorted at it “Get back in, I’ll put you down in a moment.” He promised, appreciative that the beast had been so cooperative thus far. He was soon up in the room, having shoved the heavy wooden door open, and sighed as he let it shut behind him. He put the belongings he was carrying down, and shed the cloak, pulling the wolf from his shirt, who suddenly seemed very reluctant, squeaking, and writhing in his hands, deciding it didn’t want to be out in the open air, and back against the man’s warm skin  “What are we going to do with you?” He asked it, frowning, holding it up in front of him. Their eyes met, the blue of a young wolf, and the amber of an older wolf connecting. </p>
<p>He had the funny feeling that this was going to be a long term arrangement.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 'White' Is No Name for a Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Naming things is hard, and Geralt finds a buyer for those monster parts.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a short while of just staring at each other, Geralt and the wolf came to an agreement. He, first of all (and probably not much to the poor pup’s liking) turned the creature around to determine whether or not he was dealing with a boy or girl - not that it mattered, but it felt better to know. A girl, from what he could see, and then he placed her on the floor, trying to remember exactly what he knew about wolves, to try and determine an age. He realised that he knew enough, but he hardly was an expert. Either way, he knew that poor creature was probably hungry, and so was he. Then there was the matter of his actual business to take care of - and that ideally needed seeing to while they still had the light. What did he do with his new friend, though? He didn’t want to risk leaving her here, there was the potential she’d cause a mess, get into everything, be noisy, and the last thing he needed was to lose his room because of a stray dog - essentially. Carrying her like he had been was not ideal, though… “Will you carry on being settled?” He asked her, as if she was going to give him any kind of response “Or are you going to create all kinds of chaos now that you know you’re staying with me?” The fluffy creature, still half covered in mud, but drier, was exploring the small room now she had been put back down, claws tapping against the worn wood, he could hear her padding feet, not a hunter yet. Youngsters were not as light on their feet; quite like witchers to begin with, he supposed. He turned, having a sudden idea, and knowing her snuffling around the equally worn bed, and furniture was not going to harm her, began to rummage in the pack he had brought in with him, the bag resting against the nearby wall. He really needed to clear this thing out, he decided. He moved a hand over a broken spoon (he’d since got a new one) that had been forgotten about, a small pack of dried fruit that had been in there for gods knew how long, an empty vial that he was surprised hadn’t smashed, and then realised that it was probably cushioned with everything else in there. Eventually, though, he found what he was after, and unfurled a rolled up satchel that had made its way to the bottom of his pack. He held it up, trying to visually measure it against the wolf. She wouldn’t stand still long enough, though, having found a stray leaf to tumble about with. Eventually, he crouched down again, and made a soft noise at her “Hey, c’mere…” He encouraged, almost as he would a horse. In truth, Geralt did not have much of a point of reference for how to handle a wolf. He hadn’t been all that exposed to dogs, but he’d found out enough in his days, and was fond enough of them, cats did not like him. At all. It wasn’t even worth pretending with a cat, and the only animal he knew he had a good handle on husbandry, etiquette wise was a horse. <br/>Which was not what this wolf was. <br/>He sighed, watching her fall over herself, all paws, and scraggly tail, before she looked up at him. He took that moment to whistle at her softly, hoping that would get her attention enough to bring her over. It did, and she came barrelling to him, still very curious for a wild animal. It was almost a little unnerving, in all truth. Still, she came and he managed a smile, quite proud of himself “I guess first of all I should name you, huh? Might have more chance of coming over to me.” That was what you did with a dog, wasn’t it? But gods, he wasn’t very good at naming things… </p><p>Where was his bard when he needed him? Probably galivanting off in some court, or after some nobleperson that was frankly dangerous to court. That, or the minstrel was getting in trouble somehow else, somewhere. They hadn’t seen each other in some time. Jaskier was far better with words, his profession made it so, and he would know something good to name her. Probably something far too fancy, but it would be better than his poor brain was coming up with. <br/>“Snowy?” No, that was dumb “Luna? Like the moon? Hm, overdone, I’m sure…” and all this time, the animal stayed put where he had caught her between his hands, just gazing up at him with blue eyes, big and round and with fur contrasting. The man recited off a few more failed names, before he hummed, brushing a careful finger through her muddy fur “You’re white. Can’t call you White.” He snorted, and then had an idea “Gwyn?” Then he was suddenly excited, and smiled “Gwyn. Sounds better in Elder Speech, huh?” Better than ‘White’ in Common, at least, and because not many would know the meaning it simply sounded a pretty name. “Gwyn.” He tried it out, and watched her as she wriggled, licking at his wrist “You like that? Yeah, I think it suits you.” <br/>So, feeling accomplished, Geralt then stood, and brought the wolf up in his arms with him, picking up the satchel with his other hand (for the pup rested quite happily along one of his forearms at her current size) and flicked it open “Think you can hop in here for a bit, Gwyn?” He knew he’d have to over use her name to get her used to it. If he was indeed going to keep her around, he’d need to know she’d come to him when called. </p><p>He had never thought he’d have a pet. A companion. <br/>Hell, he hadn’t thought he’d have a travelling companion and then Jaskier had wormed his way in, he hadn’t thought he’d have a child, and then Ciri had made herself known, so really he shouldn’t find himself so surprised. Anything was possible; he’d even managed to find something akin to love with Yennefer. </p><p>Who he tried to not think about. </p><p>The wolf fitted nicely into the satchel once he had it on, and he was glad she did, and even found the fact that her little head poked out to look at him the slightest bit adorable. She was not all that heavy, and once he pulled the canvas flap over her once more, fingers brushing down over her fur just a moment beforehand, he felt he had a convincing hiding place for the creature to inhabit while he got on with a few other things. The witcher made sure he grabbed the key for the room, tucked it on his person, grabbed for another smaller coin purse just in case, and then double checked the dagger he carried was tucked safely in his boot. He did not anticipate any kind of trouble, but one could never be sure when you weren’t the normal kind of tourist a town got. He didn’t want to carry his sword, because that would arouse far more suspicion, and so tucked it away in the room, sliding it under the bed for safe keeping. He needed to fetch his silver one from Roach when he headed for the stables, but that was fine, he could keep an eye on things better when he was back in the immediate vicinity. </p><p>So, mentally making sure he had everything needed, the witcher, and his hidden wolf headed back downstairs, past the bar, and outside and to the stables. </p><p>When they arrived, the same stable boy as earlier appeared, and he looked just as panicked as before that Geralt was starting to wonder if that was just his face. <br/>“Master Witcher! Your horse, she’s fine, I promise, all fine, and your stuff is all there, don’t worry, made sure there were no thieving hands or eyes on anything.” It was clear the lad was edging for an extra coin or two, and he was lucky, because if everything was as it should be, as he’d asked, then perhaps the white haired witcher was feeling generous. He just nodded, making a soft noise of acknowledgement as he let himself be led into the small area behind the tavern where there were lined up stalls, where Roach was happily tied up, his saddle, and belongings neatly resting over the fence, and on the floor. She looked like she’d already been brushed down, and she snorted at him in greeting, and he gave her a glad pat to say hello “At least you’ll be fed and won’t have to sleep on the forest floor, hm?” He muttered to the horse, before he moved himself backwards, and glanced back to the boy “Think this can be taken up to my room? I’ll pay extra if it’s you that does it. Third on the left when you reach the top of the stairs.” He gestured to the things stacked on the floor. Youngsters like the stablehand were easy to buy, because they wanted to be bought, and he could tell the kid liked feeling important, because he nodded enthusiastically. A good story to tell friends, he supposed, of the time he met a witcher, and handled his things. Geralt passed him one coin now, and promised the rest would be left with the owner of the establishment later. It turned out he was the nephew of said owner, and so the white haired man felt better knowing the payment would be passed across later on. </p><p>He hefted the bag of monster entrails, and the head up, though, pulling a face as he noticed the fact the bottom of the sack was now discoloured with the blood and damp from them, and then went to move on, before pausing “Boy?” <br/>The young man looked at him from where he was shouldering the rest of the witcher’s gear, and when asked if the healer lived nearby, the other gestured inside “Sits oftentimes on the table in the middle, likes a game of dice.” He told him, then pulled a face “Dresses fancy, must make good money healing people.” He shrugged, and then went to venture past Geralt and indoors himself. </p><p>The witcher had the sneaking suspicion that the healer was not just a healer, and that he dabbled in more, and then remembered that he’d passed a finely attired pair when he’d gone to the bar. </p><p>At least he didn’t have to walk too far to get to where he wanted to be, he supposed, and headed back in, bringing the monster parts with him, other hand running over the edge of the bag at his side, feeling the warmth of the small body curled there. Maybe she’d fallen asleep? He could hope. It would make this next transaction far easier. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt walked back through the door, and the place was no more full in the main room than it had been earlier, so he managed to spot the two men easily - they were no longer playing, but the cups, and board were still out, and it seemed that perhaps they were just taking a break. Clearly, both had money to burn. Good. <br/>The merchant looked up once more as he approached, but looked away quickly, as if he were stopping himself from staring. However, the man sitting opposite him seemed to be less phased, and leaned back in his seat, letting his eyes fall to the being approaching them. <br/>An eyebrow was raised from who he assumed was the healer, and now he was close enough, the white haired man could give him a better look. Certainly didn’t have the telltale herbs and bottles attached to him like a herbalist, or peddler, or traditional medicine man did, and that made him think that, with the finer clothing, he had to be more a mage? He wasn’t sure, but there was an air of magic about him, even if it were weak. Certainly not strong enough for his medallion to pick up, but enough that he was sure he’d feel the tremor of it if his hand made contact with the other’s body “Heard you’d be the man to give this to?” Geralt murmured, and hefted the sack up onto the table. He let it thud, and was glad that he got to be a bit dramatic with it after all, especially when the man’s companion recoiled. The healer peeked inside the sack, though, seemingly unperturbed “Well, yes, you’re in luck, and so am I, it seems.” he rolled up one sleeve, and ventured his hand into the bag, poking at something with a hum, and Geralt honestly couldn’t help but pull his own face at it. Had to be a mage. Strange creatures. <br/>“Think you can use it?” <br/>“Yes, I can take it with me. It’s getting late, but if you stop by tomorrow, I’ll give you payment. I may also have a task for you.” The well dressed man murmured. The witcher was not content with that, though, he wanted the money “You’ve got your winnings. Pay me now.” He stepped forward again, letting the irritation sink into his voice, but the other kept calm, and simply closed the sack back up, lifting it from the table, and wiping at the residue left on the marked wood with a sleeve “I don’t know what of this I can actually use. Half now, the rest tomorrow.” <br/>“Fine.” Geralt had been stung by such a deal before, but looking at this guy, it appeared that he was quite keen for the monster hunter to visit him the next day. Besides, the white haired man supposed he did still need a bath, and wanted to check his things, get something to eat. Oh, and he wanted to keep the newly named Gwyn out of trouble.<br/>Declining a game of dice, he took the payment offered to him, counted it out, and then headed back to the bar. The amount he’d been given was decent, and if that was half, he was right to strike such a deal. He paid the innkeep for the boy’s couriering of his things upstairs, and told him to make sure he got what he deserved, and ordered a drink. He paid extra, because apparently the stable boy had also been asked by the innkeep himself to take some water up to the witcher’s room for the bath. He didn’t know whether to be offended or not - he didn’t look that bad, did he? </p><p>Satisfied, Geralt then headed back upstairs, peeking back into the satchel once more as he began his ascent, ale in one hand. As hoped, the little wolf was curled up, body rising and falling, asleep. Clearly the walking had lulled her. </p><p>He let himself back into his room, glad to see his things were there. Now it was finally time for that bath.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Definitely a Mage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt gets used to parenting a wolf, and he gets a new contract from the town healer who seems to have a certainly thing for monster parts.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry for any awkward formatting here - my computer was not playing ball and as per usual it looks far better on the doc I was working from! Hopefully it's readable. After a few failed attempts at trying to get the words to do what I wanted, I thought it best to leave it be.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><span>The rest of the evening, and their night passed far more smoothly than Geralt could have ever thought possible. Especially because he had suddenly become a parent to a baby wolf. She had slept a while longer, and he had bathed while she entertained herself with a piece of stray cord that had fallen out of his shirt as he had slipped it over his head. He’d find something else to lace the front of the garment - the cord was worn, anyway, and he’d much rather her play with that than anything dangerous. Plus, it let him bathe in relative peace. </span><span><br/></span><span>Gwyn had taken quite a struggle to get washed up, though, and he had ended her own cleaning session almost as wet as if he’d taken a second dip in the tub. It was oddly satisfying to see white fur shining underneath all that mud and whatever else, though, and he rubbed her down with a linen towel that had been a spare from his own wash. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing (and putting her on the floor many, many times only to have her scrabble and crying at him), the witcher had then slept with the little animal curled up beside him. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He vowed to not make a habit of that. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>The white haired man was woken early, and it was just a lucky thing that he was not afraid of mornings, because even for him, it was a little earlier than he’d intended. He liked to make the most of an actual bed when he could. Gwyn was nibbling at his hands, though, and after a lot of squeaking, he suddenly came to the realisation that she perhaps wanted to go outside to do her business; how she’d known to not do so indoors was a wonder to him, but he didn’t get chance to think about the oddity of it much, as he threw some trousers on, tugged on his boots, and scooped up the creature once more. He totally forgot that he’d been doing his best to hide her the day before, and hurried down the stairs, and outside </span><span><br/></span> <span>Luckily, they were not detected, and to his surprise, when he put the animal down (thankfully without him being urinated on), she went to do her thing, and came right back to him, wiggling her little body as if awaiting praise. Gearlt felt as if he were being pranked; this had to be a dog, surely? It couldn’t be a wild animal. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Well, good job. Let’s go get packed up, grab some breakfast and go and see what that strange man wanted, hm?” He murmured to the wolf, picking her up again and heading back indoors. </span>
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</p><p><span>Deciding that it would be best for them both to not linger in this town for too long, Geralt made the effort to pack up entirely, and went back down to the stables to see about getting his things stored with his horse and tack. It was nonsensical to drag Roach to visit the healer with him, especially if there was nowhere for her to be tied up. He’d rather pick her up later and, although it cost him to do so, at least he knew she was comfortable. It was not good for the mare, after all, to have the saddle on alongside the weight of his things for long periods of time. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>The same stableboy was there, and that made him happier, too. Geralt left his horse with a promise he’d be back soon. He did also take a moment to entertain what to do with Gwyn. He’d tucked her back into the satchel from the day before, and she seemed well enough behaved in that space, but it wasn’t wholly practical. Until they knew each other more, he wasn’t sure what to do. Perhaps he could pass her off as a puppy - young dogs and wolf pups were not all that dissimilar after all, and it wasn’t going to be until she grew like a weed compared to some dogs, that it would be noticeable. He toyed with the idea of leaving her in the stable with Roach, but didn’t want any trouble, and so kept her in the bag, hoping to every god that this would be okay, that he wouldn’t be with the man he was about to meet long, and that he could perhaps fashion a way for the little wolf to travel without having to be tucked away. It wasn’t fair on her, and it certainly was not how he wanted to treat her. He was responsible for her now, after all. </span><span><br/></span> <span>So, making sure Gwyn was happily enough in her temporary carrying pouch, the witcher headed off in the direction of where the healer had indicated the night before. He found the place easily enough, with various bundles of things tied outside, either drying, or for protection, perhaps both. “Here we go, then. At least I’ll be able to get the rest of that payment.” He murmured to the wolf, giving her a little pet, before covering her again, and knocking on the door. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>The healer opened it quickly, as if he had heard him coming, as if he were expecting him. Had the guy been sitting behind the door waiting? That amused the white haired man briefly, but then he was frowning because the healer before him had an expression on his face that indicated excitement - he </span><em><span>had </span></em><span>to be a mage.</span><span><br/></span> <span>The man was dressed just as finely, his hair was cut, his beard pared back in a way that almost made him handsome, and he had a glint to his eye that the witcher had not seen the night before. They were a brilliant blue, only brought out further by the colour of the shirt he wore. Geralt hated to imagine how much such a garment had cost. Looking around, he was now even more certain that he was not dealing with any normal healer, because there were things hanging up, and in jars that certainly should not be common knowledge. There was a workbench, scattered in things, and on the floor beside it, a tower of books that looked old, and well read. Making assumptions could lead to trouble, though - he knew that one first hand. So, he decided to wait for more pieces of the puzzle to be slotted together. </span><span><br/></span></p><p>
  <span>“Witcher! I was hoping you hadn’t forgotten my earlier request!” He enthused, coming forward and grasping the white haired man’s hand between his own, gaze still just as excited as when Geralt had first stepped into the space “I’ve had a better look at what you gave me yesterday, and I must say, I owe you more than I thought. I can certainly use most of those delightful body parts.” He was beaming now, and Geralt sorely hoped he didn't look so gleeful when he was faced with an ailing client. </span>
</p><p><span>“I’m glad to hear it.” Geralt nodded, but then paused, and looked faintly curious “I never did get your name?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Petri, Petri Kiviman. Address me as you will.” He shrugged, not seemingly bothered by formalities such as names - he was probably called all sorts by the townspeople here, and likely had taken up another name for them. Geralt had the feeling that his birth name was not used as much “Do come in further, take a seat, I--” He paused, and turned to clear off a chair, looking a little embarrassed “I haven’t seen any patients for a few days, and you know how it is; </span><em><span>things</span></em><span> just appear where you don't want them.” He was clearly talking about the books and papers, and other instruments, and gods knew what else was lying around the place.The house was not cluttered by any means, but it was not tidy. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt took the offered seat, and looked back over at the workbench, spotting his stained sack that had held the heads and other parts he’d gathered. It was empty, but he did not see where the parts of the monsters were. He didn’t want to ask. The healer was rummaging nearby, and the witcher heard the telltale clink of coins being counted. At least they were getting straight to it. The witcher was not the kind of man to sit still and wait for no reason, after all. If he had no reason to be here, he would rather be paid and move on. He did not make small talk.</span>
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  <span>As it was, Petri seemed to not be under any pretense that this was going to happen either, and came to sit in a chair opposite Geralt, passing the coin purse over to him “I think you’ll find a decent amount here.” </span>
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  <span>“Thanks.” and he took it, feeling the weight, the white haired man knew that he did not need to make a massive show out of counting what was there, and simply took a peek just to make sure they were actually all coins, rather than rocks (which happened more than you’d think). </span>
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  <span>“Now that’s out the way, on to my next query of you,” The healer leaned forward slightly, as if he were about to tell Geralt a secret “As you may have realised by now, I am no mere village healer. I’m a sorcerer, albeit not a particularly… well practised one.” once again, that embarrassment was clear in his features, but it did not stay for very long, and he was carrying on with a wave of his hand “I’ve made my living quite happily, I have no need of court or places of power. This is not the life many of my kind choose, but it’s kept me safe and content enough for some time.” Petri offered Geralt a smile, then, that sparkle was back in his eye. </span>
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  <span>“I see,” The witcher replied, hand coming down to the bag he had retained beside him, fingers brushing over the warm lump of wolf still there. Gods, she was good. How did she know she needed to stay quiet? He frowned slightly, and gestured for the other to go on “and where do I come into this?” </span>
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  <span>“I’ll not keep you, I’m sure you’re a busy man, and so am I. There’s a wyvern that lives nearby. The townsfolk think it’s a dragon, it preys on their livestock, and they let it because they’re too scared to do anything about it, and don’t understand it. In fact, there was one farmer recently that deliberately left a cow out for the beast - just to keep it sated.</span>
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  <span>“Everyone will be better off if it’s gone. I’ll even have a word with the local authorities here to save you doing so. Plus,” The man let a smile curl at his lips, making Geralt think of a fox “I want the teeth.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>Mage, most definitely a mage. </span></em><span>Geralt thought to himself. He did not know anyone else that would be so sly about such a thing, wanting something dead on the pretence of the benefit of many, but with a purely selfish undertone. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“What are you going to do with the teeth?” The witcher challenged him, squaring his shoulders, and raising an eyebrow. It was a guilty pleasure, he wanted to see if he could make the other squirm.</span></p><p>
  
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  <span>“Does it matter? You have your business, I have mine.” Came the reply from Petri all too quickly, and he shifted in his seat, before he reached for another pouch “I’ve got more than enough here, I could happily pay you. I’ll even offer you some herbs and whatnot. I know you need them for your own concoctions, and healing.” </span>
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  <span>Geralt could not argue with such a thing, and in that moment he was most definitely the emotionless killer many thought witchers were, only in it for the coin “Fine. Tell me where it lives. This will not be a cheap job, I hope you know.” </span>
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  <span>“I’ll tell the townspeople, inform the correct heads of our locale. Who knows, maybe the Ealdorman will offer you a share of payment, too. Gods, a witcher come to save us from the evil beast!” He dramatically exuded, a hand coming up. For a moment, he seemed as if he would be more at home with a travelling performing troupe than sat here in his home surrounded by body parts and plants. That was, until he rolled his eyes, dismissive. He seemed sure of such a thing; that the locals would be overwhelmed with gratitude, and that he’d get more than just the payment offered by him alone. Maybe he hoped he wouldn’t have to pay as much if someone else chipped in. </span>
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  <span>Geralt thought that perhaps there was something more going on here, but he wasn’t about to judge. The healer rubbed his hands together “There’s a rocky outcrop not too far North of here - the beast resides in a cave there. Surrounding towns have sent men up there, but none have come back.” His eyes were shining again, he was clearly excited, and Geralt didn’t trust it. </span>
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  <span>Still, the witcher accepted the job, and they agreed on a price between them, with the added bonus of the area’s lords paying out if they saw fit. Geralt then stood, and bid Petri a goodbye. He was keen to get on and prepare - a wyvern was no easy fight, after all. Taking his payment for the monster parts, he tucked it in his belt, gathered up his bag, took one last look at the mage, noting the smug look in his expression, and then left to blink back into the sunlight of the morning. </span>
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  <span>“Looks like we’ve got a new contract on our hands.” The white haired man murmured as he undid the flap of the satchel he carried, peering at the wolf, who had popped her head up to look at him with big blue eyes. He ran fingers gently over the fuzzy white fur of her head, and she gave his hand a playful kind of nip. </span>
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  <span>A new contract, a wyvern to handle, teeth to extract, preparations to be made, and now he had to figure out what the hell to do with a baby wolf while he worked. </span>
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